Monster: Tale Loch Ness

by Jeffrey Konvitz

  She looked at the top photo—two terrified men in a mechanical vehicle, water pouring over them. Picking it up, she noticed the photo beneath, showing the head of an animal. She lifted the stack, examining the other photographs. More shots of the thing—a dinosaur? She looked at the drawings. The first few were design reductions of the metal web. The next sequences were artist's renditions of a dinosaurlike thing resembling the animal in the photos. And then the final set of renditions depicted the animal entering the web, getting deeper inside, the web closing around it, trapping it.

  She put down the drawings. She felt sick. She was suddenly conscious of the rapid beat of her pulse. Her hands turned clammy cold.

  She searched the desk drawers. There was nothing there. She looked around the room. A book was sitting on the arm of the lounge. She looked at the title: Textbook of Paleontology. She examined the book shelves. One shelf was completely filled with volumes on the Loch Ness monster.She found the tribunal report.

  Angry, she walked from room to room searching. She climbed the staircase, inspecting the bedrooms—again nothing—and then went up to the attic. The attic door was open. She entered.

  She was awe struck. There were maps on the walls. Plans. Notes. Pictures. A blowup of a strange footprint. She rifled through reams of material. She found more renditions, then finally a notebook outlining procedures, the step-by-step plan to catch a creature that had sunk the Columbus.

  She questioned her state of consciousness. Was this all real? Was this a dream?

  Suddenly, she felt the pain, a terrible pain of hatred that knifed into her soul.

  He'd deceived her, lied to her, used her.

  She left the attic, returned to the den, grabbed the phone. Dialing a number, she waited, then spoke.

  "I'd like to speak to Mr. Droon," she said.

  A Geminii company car stopped in front of Travis House. Scotty stepped out. Since the jeep had not been working right that morning, a driver had been placed at his service.

  He entered the house as the car disappeared, popped into the kitchen, and returned to the den with a beer. Sitting at the desk, he inspected the pile of pictures and renditions. Strange, he was sure he'd left them in a different order. Had someone been in there?

  He heard a sound and looked up. Mary MacKenzie was standing in the den doorway. Her face was granite hard, furious.

  "Good evening, Mr. Bruce," she snapped.

  He said nothing, too shocked to speak.

  She entered the room.

  He glanced at the stack of photos; she'd seen them all.

  "You've been in the house?" he asked almost inaudibly; she could never understand now.

  "Yes," she replied coldly.

  "How'd you get in?"

  She pointed to the window. "There."

  "It was locked."

  "I pried it open." "Why?"

  "To find out the truth, and I found it here and in the attic."

  She stood immobile, staring. Their eyes locked. He tried to organize his thoughts.

  "You're a pig," she suddenly growled. "An animal. Just like everyone else at Geminii."

  He rushed to her. "Now wait. I want you to listen to me!"

  "Listen to you? Never again!"

  "I love you. I'd never hurt you."

  "You've hurt me more than you could ever imagine. And as for your love, it is vile. I don't ever want to hear of it again. And I won't. I am stone once more. May God strike at my soul. I have failed my country, my people, myself. I let the burden languish while I listened to your line of rot."

  "You don't understand!" he challenged.

  "I understand everything!" she cried, her petrified expression suddenly breaking. She stormed to the desk and grabbed the pictures and sketches. "I understand these! I know what is going on in the loch. I know how the tribunal was deceived."

  "I had nothing to do with it."

  "You're lying!"

  He moved to her; she threw the pictures in his face.

  "I know why the Columbus went down. I know the lies. I know what killed MacPherson. I know why the lies were told!"

  "You must believe me. I'm doing what I'm doing for the men on the Magellan. For Scotland. I'm trying to prevent more carnage."

  Her face turned blood red. "You defile this land, its people. You and your kind represent everything that has made us suffer. You did what you did to keep Geminii in operation. Just as I knew you would!"

  "It's not me, damnit!"

  "If it's not you, then it's all the worse. If you've been carried along, you're a mouse, a vermin swallowed by the corporate being. But believe me, Mr. Bruce, you are no longer of importance. The only things that matter are Scotland and Loch Ness. If this beast exists, it is a danger to the drill ship. If this beast exists, it is part of Scotland and its history. No, Mr. Bruce, it is ours. You hear me! Ours! You have taken everything else that is Scotland. You and your kind have sucked our lifeblood. Used us. Tried to destroy us. Never again! This thing in the loch is part of us. It has always been. And damn if I'm going to let you destroy it, too."

  "I'm going to save the beast," he exclaimed, trying to make her understand. "We're going to catch it and return it to the sea."

  She whirled on him viciously. "Do you think I believe anything you say? The sound of your voice makes me sick. And I'll tell you what else, Mr. Bruce. I never thought I'd ever feel hatred like I do now. God forgive me for it."

  She moved to leave; he slid in front of her.

  "You're not leaving here!"

  "The hell I'm not."

  "You're going to listen to me. You try to stop this thing and you're dead. There's an execution order hanging over your head. That's why I agreed to help them. You must believe me. You mustn't interfere. Let me catch this thing and—"

  "Shut up," she screamed. "I don't want to hear it."

  She began to cry, jerking in breaths, no longer able to keep in the hurt.

  "I love you," he said, crying, too. "I love you."

  She smacked him, crying even more fiercely, fighting off his attempts to hold her, stop her, smacking and hitting again and again.

  He didn't resist; he merely tried to restrain her until she exhausted herself.

  She broke for the door; he grabbed her by the arm, pulled her back to the desk, pinned her down.

  "You're staying here," he screamed, "if I have to lock you up!"

  She cried out, kicked. He held her tighter. She reached back, grabbed the inkwell, and hurled the ink toward his face. The ink splashed into his eyes. He howled in agony and released his hold. Falling to his knees, he tried to grab her leg but missed. She raced out the door.

  He stumbled to the first-floor bathroom, splashed water into his eyes and then, still in agony, rushed out the door. She was gone. He jumped into the jeep. It wouldn't start.

  Rushing back into the house, Scotty called Foster and asked him to arrange for a car—fast.

  Scotty doubted whether Mary MacKenzie would talk to him over the phone, and it was essential he get her to listen. Damn! He had no idea what she was going to do, though she would certainly try to stop them. Superintendent MacGregor? The Highland Council? Farquharson? She had a whole host of choices.

  When the car arrived, he drove it to the Cam Dearg Inn.

  Mary MacKenzie's niece was tending bar. She said she did not know where her aunt was. He searched the place. MacKenzie wasn't there.

  He returned to Inverness and tried the council building. The building was dark.

  Next, he tried the constabulary. No one had seen MacKenzie there, and an inquiry at the headquarters of the Scottish National Party also proved fruitless.

  He drove to Travis House, unsure of what to do. He couldn't tell anyone about what had happened. If Whittenfeld knew, she'd be dead. And if he knew her as well as he thought, she'd do the exact things calculated to send Whittenfeld into shock!

  He checked the den desk and the attic carefully. She'd taken some pictures and artist's renditions. Damn!


  He descended the staircase to the first floor again and sat down behind the desk to think.

  The phone rang.

  William Whittenfeld was on the line.

  Chapter 36

  "You don't know how happy I am that you were able to come over," Whittenfeld said as he sat behind his living-room desk, holding a glass of Scotch.

  Scotty sat on the couch. The room was dimly lit. Whittenfeld was smoking a thin, effeminate cigar. He wore a silk shirt and, very uncharacteristically, jeans. And he drank from the glass as if he was struggling against an incurably dry mouth.

  Scotty said nothing.

  Whittenfeld frowned. "Scotty, I don't want you to regard me as some distant voice of evil. I'm not. We're a team. You're my right-hand man, a man I've relied on for many things. Sure, we've had disagreements, and there are still many problems. But the problems have been external. They've been foisted on us. Believe me, once this animal is removed, we will be able to pursue our goals without interruption. We will unlock the secrets of the vile bitch, and it will all be ours. And remember, it will be yours, too. When this is all over, I want you to take an even bigger role here. I want the loch to become an emotional thing to you. I want you to love it."

  Scotty couldn't believe he'd heard this! Had Whittenfeld lost touch with his own mind? Was the man so disjointed he could believe there could ever be a positive aftermath? "Right now, I fear it. Hate it. And I didn't come here to listen to your bullshit. I came to put your fucking neck in a noose or make a deal!"

  "There. See. Anger!" Whittenfeld declared, ignoring Scotty's declaration. "Thank God. The loch has become an emotional thing already. Love and hate travel together. They produce similar catharses. That you hate only tells me that you will soon love. Yes, you will love because you're the type of man who generates feelings, a man worthy of my faith. You're not like the rest of the cattle that work for the company. They obey orders. They do not think. They can never achieve greatness. Scotty, you can. You are a man who can be immortal. And I want you with me. Believe me, I have an ache in my heart because of our differences. Because we did not see eye to eye on the tribunal matter. Because of your unwarranted suspicions about the divers. Because of our different views. Because I had to threaten the girl."

  Scotty sorted impressions. Whittenfeld was one of the most schizophrenic human beings he'd ever met. And the more he sat and listened, the more he was convinced that Whittenfeld's actions and reactions, his thoughts and ideas, were spun out at random through severely crossed wires, spun out so haphazardly that Whittenfeld was capable of the most bizarre and illogical of actions at any time. God knows what was in store for them!

  "What does Fallworth think of the beast and the trap?" Scotty asked.

  "He approves."

  "What did you tell him about the hose, the tribunal?"

  "Nothing. Saboteurs destroyed the Columbus as far as Fallworth is concerned. The beast is another matter. They exist together. Both are real to Fallworth. There's no need to confuse matters by introducing meaningless complications. No, you don't worry about Fallworth. You worry about the trap. That it works. That this creature does not endanger the drill ship. That we rid the loch of the creature once and for all."

  Scotty leaned forward; a shaft of light crossed his face. "We rid the loch of the creature and then the entire world will know."

  "Yes," Whittenfeld said. "But then it will be done. There'Il be nothing anyone can do. Our detractors will be confronted by the finished reality, and we will be able to go about our, business no matter how loud they howl. Yes, let our detractors try to introduce negatives in the face of an admiring world. We will be heroes. The world loves heroes. It loves to bestow garlands. You've been a hero. You understand. You know that with garlands bestowed on Geminii, no voice in this foolish country will be able to command the stage." He walked to the picture of his son. "My son would have understood. He would have liked you, been like you." He examined a cartograph of Scotland. "It's funny how my past is always with me. Though my son no longer exists, he haunts me. I sometimes sit behind my desk alone at night and talk to him, explain to him what we are trying to do here. In many ways, a lot of what I do, I do for him, his memory, to show him what I can and have accomplished. You understand, don't you?"

  Scotty stared. Talk to his son? "Yes," he said.

  Whittenfeld's expression slackened; his eyes reflected anger. "And my ex-wife is with me as well. I never told you much about her, the vile bitch, did I?"

  Interesting, Scotty thought. "You never said much."

  "She's better off not mentioned most of the time. She deserves to be part of oblivion. You would not have liked her. Not the way she was when we fell apart. Oh, sure, when we met, she was young, vibrant, in love with love. Though she'd come from an upper-class family, part of society, there were many things about her that were simple and warm. It's what she became, though. A vile bitch. A temperamental, greedy, selfish, vile bitch. A vile bitch who left me when I was at my lowest, when things weren't going too well. We were living in Houston. I wasn't moving up the corporate ladder fast enough. You know how it is with the big multinationals. I didn't have the right connections. I wasn't wired. So it was taking time. But my wife never understood time. She only understood status. She looked at others, and she despised me because I could not give her the status she felt she deserved." Little beads of sweat formed on his brow. "She took my son and left me. In 1963. That was a long time ago. But I remember it like it was yesterday. She said I'd never become anything! She said I was a failure. A loser. She said I was a waste who would never accomplish anything in life, and she convinced my son of it, too, took him from me." He laughed a sick laugh. "But I proved her wrong. I became something. Now, I've nearly reached greatness. And I will reach immortality. I will show the vile bitch, shove it up her ass, if it's the last thing I ever do." He paused, breathing deeply. "Loch Ness is my ramrod. Nothing will take it from me. Because it is my ramrod and my child."

  "Why are you telling me this?"

  "Because you and I had problems. Because I want a future for us in Loch Ness. Because I want you to understand the link between love and hatred."

  They sat in silence, watching each other. The clock struck the hour. Whittenfeld's breathing became audible.

  "I told you I didn't come here to listen to your pathetic rantings and ravings," Scotty suddenly declared, realizing it was essential he give Whittenfeld a pointed and violent warning in view of the information Mary MacKenzie possessed and the possible moves she might make. "I came to extract a commitment."

  "What?"

  Scotty walked up to Whittenfeld. "I will complete the trap project. But I want you to call off the hounds. I want you to ensure nothing happens to Mary MacKenzie—no matter what."

  Whittenfeld seemed to consider Scotty's request. "Of course, I promise. With your commitment, I promise you mine."

  Scotty grabbed Whittenfeld's right arm and bent it behind his back. Whittenfeld cried out in pain. "I've learned about your promises, so this time I'll add the incentives," Scotty said. "If anything happens to Mary MacKenzie, I will strangle both you and Lefebre with my bare handsi"

  Scotty returned to Travis House.

  John Leslie Houghton's limousine was parked outside. Houghton was in the back seat.

  Scotty climbed from the loaner. Houghton's chauffeur opened the rear of the limo. Houghton stepped out.

  "Good evening, Mr. Bruce," Houghton said.

  "Surprised again," Scotty remarked.

  "I have the information you requested. Let's go inside. I have something to show you."

  They entered Travis House.

  "Take me to the den," Houghton ordered.

  Scotty led Houghton into the room.

  Houghton unscrewed the telephone receiver and removed a small disc.

  "A bug?" Scotty asked, shocked. "Are there any others?"

  "Your upstairs phones are similarly equipped," Houghton advised. "Your office is bugged, too. The bugs were placed
after the tribunal hearings. Lefebre also gave you an elephant. There is a transmitter in the trunk!"

  "You know what's going on here, don't you?"

  "Yes. Everything."

  "What do you think about all this?" Could Houghton help him find Mary MacKenzie? He would ask.

  Houghton lit a cigarette, held at the end of his holder. "I find some of it amusing. I find some of it disturbing. However, the only business I have here is you. The rest of Geminii's adventures are superfluous."

  They both sat.

  Houghton began. "You must understand that Whittenfeld only reacts when his 'child' is endangered, and he will protect his 'child' with his life. Lefebre, on the other hand, carries out orders without question but also reacts on a personal level to a challenge. You lashed out at him, grabbed him, physically attacked him; he lashed back at you. Mercenaries learn to respond quickly to attack. Their reactions become instant, automatic, vicious!"

  "Was Barrett murdered?" Scotty asked.

  "Yes," Houghton replied emotionlessly.

  "Because he endangered Whittenfeld's 'child'?"

  "Whittenfeld had nothing to do with it. Whittenfeld respected Barrett. Yes, Barrett and Whittenfeld argued about the excessive security. About Lefebre's presence. About Lefebre's operating procedures. But Whittenfeld wasn't overly concerned."

  "Then why was Barrett killed?"

  "He clashed with Lefebre. They argued. Then they fought one night outside of Gellions Lounge Bar on High Bridge Street. Lefebre was badly cut. The sight of blood sealed Barrett's fate. Lefebre fed Barrett manijuju."

  "Whittenfeld didn't know?"

  "He knew about the fight. He knew about Barrett's heart attack. I would venture to say he suspected Lefebre's cornplicity. But he never asked nor accused. The Barrett problem was over. Simple as that. On with work."

  "Furst?" Scotty asked.

  "He posed a threat. Whittenfeld was very aware of it. He told Lefebre to take care of it, bribe the diver, secure the diver's silence. The diver refused the bribe. Lefebre sent the diver and the diver's associate to their maker."